


Tiramisù

by SharkGirl



Series: EmiMike Week 2017 [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A Matter of Taste, Cute, Czech Cuisine, Day 4, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Homesickness, Italian Cuisine, M/M, Post-Canon, Sweet, emimikeweek2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 12:32:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10218149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkGirl/pseuds/SharkGirl
Summary: Tiramisù, Italian, meaning "cheer me up."Written for EmiMike Week 2017Day 4:  A Matter of Taste





	

**Author's Note:**

> Barely got this one done on time! I had the idea, but no chance to write ^^;  
> I can't believe we're halfway through the week! 
> 
> Please enjoy this fluffy little fic about a homesick Mickey~  
> Un-beta'd.

Michele would never regret moving to the Czech Republic.  Things were different.  Customs were different.  The language was different.  But it had been his choice.

Right before he and Sara retired from competitive figure skating they made a promise that they would do whatever it was they needed in order to be happy, even if that meant they wouldn’t be together.  And so, a few months later, Sara had packed her bags and boarded a plane to Saint Petersburg, while Michele finally – after years of the other subtly hinting at it – accepted Emil’s offer to move in with him.

It had taken some getting used to, but he’d finally managed to speak Czech fluently, even if he did have ‘the cutest accent I’ve ever heard!’ – Emil’s words.  The locals seemed to have accepted him and he felt at home.

Well, almost.

There were things in the landlocked country that he truly missed.  The sea, for one.  How he longed to go to the beach.  There were lakes and rivers, but they didn’t carry with them the salty, briny scent of low tide for which he never realized he’d grow to yearn.

Michele missed his family, too.  But no one more than his precious little sister.  Though he knew that, even if he returned to Italy, he would not find her there.

He’d taken all of his prized possessions with him when he moved.  The inside of their apartment was a lovely mix of his and Emil’s styles.  Shelves filled with awards and trophies and medals hanging from the walls in shadow boxes.  Folded over the back of their couch was Michele’s favorite quilt that used to be in his childhood room and even the pillow on his side of the bed had been his own.

The apartment felt like home, but it was missing something.  The problem was, Michele had no idea what that something could be. 

Looking back, Michele had never handled change well.  Whether it was breaking in a new pair of skates or having his baby sister tell him that she didn’t need his love in order to win, he struggled.

Perhaps moving 1300 kilometers from his hometown had been too drastic a change.  Even after living with Emil for several months, he hadn’t gotten used to it.

What if he never got used to it?

His stomach gave a pathetic little growl and he shook his head.  Maybe he’d feel better after he ate something.  With that in mind, he walked over to the refrigerator and looked for some leftovers he could heat up.

What he wouldn't have given for just a smidgen of his mother’s culinary talent.  Unfortunately, Sara had been the one gifted with that, while he’d inherited the DeLuca short temper and stubbornness – well, the Crispinos weren’t going to take credit for those, anyway.

Michele shook his head and took out a container, popping the top and giving it a sniff.  It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ Czech food.  He enjoyed it well enough.  It just wasn’t…what he was in the mood for.  He placed the lid back on last night’s _vepřo-knedlo-zelo_ and tried another.

Emil was an excellent cook.  He almost always made them breakfast before he had to rush off to practice – reminding Michele that not _everyone_ in the house was a retired gold medalist.  And, even after a long day of skating, he’d come home and make dinner.

Michele did all the housework.  He didn’t want to feel like he wasn’t pulling his own weight, after all.

He opened the next container and sighed.  It was the _bramboráky_ Emil had fried up the night before.  The other man always got excited when making his mother’s pancakes and tended to fry up enough for their whole floor.

It was then that it hit him.  Michele wanted _his_ mother’s cooking.  He wanted to slice into her lamb, the aroma of garlic and rosemary filling his nostrils.  Or take a bite of her overstuffed mushroom _ravioli_.  How the delicate little pillows never managed to burst while she boiled them, he’d never know.  He wanted her _gnocchi_ or her _pesto_.

But more than all of that, he wanted her desserts.

That was the one thing Emil couldn’t make.  Try as he might, the most he could bake was a sheet of cookies rolled from pre-made dough.  It never bothered Michele much, as he didn’t care for sweets.  But his mother’s desserts were special.  Nothing made him feel better after a long day than a slice of her _tiramisù_.

“Mickey!” Emil’s cheery voice broke him from his reverie.  How long had he been standing there?  Was practice over already? “Did you miss me?” his boyfriend asked, making his way over and pecking him on the cheek.  But his usual jolly smile faded when he got a good look at him. “Mickey, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, I-” What was he supposed to say?  I love you and our life together, but I really want to hop a plane to Italy so I can eat my mom’s cooking? “Just a little hungry.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

“Ah, then you’re in luck!” Emil produced a medium-sized pastry box from behind his back. “A new bakery opened up just down the street from the rink.” He beamed. “An _Italian_ bakery,” he added, waggling his eyebrows.

Michele’s heart sunk.  He knew what was in that box.  He knew how close it would be.  So close and yet so far from what he really wanted.  But he accepted it, bringing the box to the table while Emil opened the utensil drawer and grabbed two forks.

“I can’t wait to try it!” Emil went on, excited enough for the both of them. “Everyone says it’s like a trip to Italy in every bite.” Michele snorted at that.  The other man’s cheerfulness was contagious.  Well, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to try it.

He opened the box and studied the dessert.  It certainly _looked_ like _tiramisù._   It wasn’t as rustic as his mother’s, though.  It was too uniform.  Too clean.

“You go first,” Emil urged, his deep blue eyes sparkling.

Unable to resist his boyfriend’s charm, he nodded and pierced his fork through the layers.  He opened his mouth, but then paused, glancing over at Emil, who was staring at him intently. “Why don’t we try it at the same time?” he suggested and Emil readied a forkful before he could blink.  Michele chuckled and brought his bite back to his lips.

“Okay, Mickey.” The other man raised his fork. “One…two…three!”

Michele wrapped his lips around it, immediately cringing as the dessert touched his tongue.  It was all wrong.  The ladyfingers were dry and what little espresso they’d absorbed tasted burnt.  And the _mascarpone_ seemed off.  No, this was not it.  This was not-

“It’s better than I thought!” Emil praised giddily. “Well, Mickey.” He turned wide, imploring eyes on him. “What do you think?”

Michele faltered for a moment.  The taste was wrong.  The texture was a mess.  But there was something about eating the dessert with Emil beside him, smiling like he always did, looking at Michele like his opinion was the most important in the world.

“It’s…” It was then that he noticed the bit of cream that had gotten caught on Emil’s upper lip.  With a smile, he lifted his hand and brushed it off with his thumb. “It’s perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aww...♥
> 
> Let me know what you think and hit me up on tumblr [@jubesy](http://jubesy.tumblr.com)!  
> Also, check out the event blog [@emimikeweek](http://emimikeweek.com)~


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